You know, growing up in Texas, there’s this guy named Robin Blake—“Rockin’” Robin to those in the know—who made quite a splash in the boxing scene of the 80s. Now, maybe it’s just me, but it seems like those were days when boxing was raw and unfiltered, kind of like a live music jam session where anything could happen. Southpaw and feisty, Blake turned heads with his firecracker punch style and a knack for making every fight feel like a Saturday night blockbuster. I mean, this dude fought like 300 times as an amateur, which sounds nuts, right? Then he decides to dive into the pro pool in ’81 at the ripe old age of 19.
Anyway, Blake didn’t take it slow—no crossword puzzles and chamomile tea for this guy. By ’83, he hit a 22-0 streak, cranking out fights like a busy bee on a mission. But just when things seemed golden, bam, two losses in a row, courtesy of Tyrone Crawley and Harry Arroyo. Burnout? Blake hints that his grueling schedule didn’t help. Dude barely had time to catch a breath before getting thrown back into the ring, and yeah, it caught up with him. The only world title chance he got was against Jimmy Paul in ’85, and guess what? Paul stopped him in the 14th round. Harsh, right?
The wheels pretty much fell off after that. Managers, well, let’s say they ran him ragged. They’d book fights behind his back—seriously, imagine selling tickets to your own birthday party and not knowing about it. By 1990, Blake hung up his gloves with a 33-8 record, stopping four times. Boxing left a sour taste, but he found peace—go figure—becoming a police officer and sticking with it until this February.
Speaking of Blake, you wouldn’t peg him for a guy who’s been punched in the face for a living. His words are sharp, memory intact. It’s almost like those battles never happened. So, I got curious and nosy, asking him about his adrenaline-fueled style.
Blake: “Oh, I loved it, no doubt. Man, at 15, I snagged the Junior Olympics, and a year later, Texas Golden Gloves—kinda big deal stuff back then. The USA boxing team had a spot with my name on it, took me worldwide. Turned pro in ’81 and fought whoever they put in the ring. No questions asked.”
I mean, just imagine facing two opponents a month. Blake did that sometimes. He mentioned a party after knocking out Melvin Paul and then, out of nowhere, deal with Tyrone Crawley on home turf, sold out and all. “I’d fought Paul, body was in revolt, and then, three weeks later, Crawley. Seriously, a 23-fight win streak just thrown under the bus.” You can tell he wasn’t thrilled with his handlers.
Fair enough, but then, it went from bad to worse—fought Harry Arroyo after just three months. Even tired, Blake thought he’d won, but the judges didn’t see it that way. Cue the downward spiral.
Blake: “Yeah, things could’ve been different. Maybe slower, or with better guidance? Towards the end, honestly… started liking the hits. I know, not great, right? It was definitely time to change lanes and become a police officer in Odessa.”
Box-office hit? Heck yes! His fights were ratings gold. Imagine being in Gorman Super Pros, rubbing shoulders with future champs like Donald Curry, Troy Dorsey. “My mental game lost it for me, you see. They fought cautiously. Me? I was the fast-track guy.”
Could it have been different with a managerial time-out? Blake thinks so. Not being world champ stings, but he knows he was a dynamite fighter. “The mental game? Man, it eats at you. After a loss, it gets tough to believe. You’re caught between ‘Do I rock or do I roll?’ Kinda dizzying.”
But fans still love him enough to sign autographs. That’s gotta mean something. Looking back, despite his management not quite hitting the mark, Blake treasures those fights, cherishing his part in boxing’s rich mosaic. In hindsight, maybe those nights in the ring set the stage for today’s multimillion-dollar brawls. And while he didn’t cash in, Robin’s mark in the sweet science won’t fade away. Bet on it.
